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One of the cuffed women begins to weep.
Noa stands up. “You’re not a citizen, you’re here illegally, conducting attacks against the United States. Therefore, no phone call, no attorney, no one-way trip back to China. I hear Cuba might be nice this time of year, or maybe the Marshall Islands, or Guam.”
The captured Chinese agents stare on in silence.
Noa carefully wipes the spittle off her face, and then leans down and gently rubs her right hand on Zhou’s left cheek.
Noa says, “Get used to it. Papa’s got a brand-new bag, and his name is President Barrett Keegan.”
CHAPTER 20
THE APPLAUSE AND cheers coming from the attendees at the annual Humphrey-Mondale Dinner in Minnesota warms President Barrett Keegan and lifts his mood. The support and the love rolling up from the packed crowd inside the packed auditorium feels almost substantial, as he could lean into it, like one of those weathermen reporting on hurricane-force winds.
Accompanied by party officials, his own White House staff, and members of the Secret Service, Barrett is quickly escorted offstage, the applause and cheers still echoing in his ears and in the corridors of the building.
Briskly the Secret Service takes him outside, where the Beast—his armored limousine—is waiting, along with two other limousines, police cars, and Suburbans making up his motorcade, ready to take him back to Air Force One.
Standing next to him is Stephanie Martin, the head of the Minnesota state party. She says in an awed voice, “Mr. President, look at that!”
“That” happens to be what looks like thousands of residents, crowded behind hastily constructed rope lines set up in the large parking lot. Additional Secret Service personnel and MinnesotaState Troops are valiantly working to keep the cheering crowd under control, as Barrett waves back at them, standing on his toes to get a greater view.
Look at that,he thinks,look at my people.The trust and love they have for him, Barrett Keegan.
He will never betray that trust and love, and that insistent voice inside of him says,You belong here, this is your time, your destiny.
Stephanie has to lean in closer to make herself heard over the cheering crowd. “This was unscheduled, sir,” she says. “It was just spontaneous. Sir, the people … they are behind you, one hundred percent.”
Barrett waves once more before ducking into the limousine. “I intend to keep that support, Stephanie, as I make them and their families safer than they can even imagine. Thanks for this incredible day.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. President,” she says as the heavy door is swung shut. “You’ve earned it.”
CHAPTER 21
LAS VEGAS
IN A PRIVATE dining room at the luxurious hotel Waldorf Astoria on Las Vegas Boulevard South, Secret Service Special Agent Marianne Harrison is feeling just a bit more comfortable at seeing her protectee, Alamo, settle down to a leisurely meal.
Alamo, also known as Laura Hernandez, former congresswoman, former governor of Texas, and now vice president of the United States, has spent a busy day with a variety of Nevada politicians, going out to the Hoover Dam for a speech on alternative energy sources, and then back to the famed annual Consumer Electronics Show. Alamo toured the various display booths at the CES, tried everything from a VR system that approximates the surface of Mars to a medical bracelet that could “read” vitals from heart rate to cholesterol level, and throughout the tour Special Agent Harrison—the detail leader—and about a dozen or so Secret Service agents kept close watch.
Even though the place was secured and there were undercover agents mingling in with the crowd, Marianne still wishes Alamo wouldn’t expose herself so much.
Which is hard to do, since as a former governor, Alamo loves to press the flesh and be out with the public.
But here, inside this closely guarded dining room, Special Agent Harrison is feeling more in control. This room is heavily secured, there’s a squad of agents in the kitchen area, and every chef, line cook, waiter, and waitress have been thoroughly vetted.
With Alamo are the governor of Nevada, the majority leaders of both the state senate and state house, and various business leaders and government officials. Alamo’s husband is back in Austin, where he’s a history professor at the University of Texas, and her two daughters are in schools in and around the Austin area.
The low-ceilinged, wood-paneled room is hung with burgundy draperies and decorated with antique paintings and sculpture. The piped-in jazz music is a soft backdrop for loud conversation and lots of laughs, and then someone starts having a coughing fit.
She looks to where the coughing is coming from.
Alamo’s table.
Harrison starts moving and there’s a crash of silverware being dropped and glass breaking, and she sees Alamo sliding to the floor, as her seatmates cry out and stand up.
She brings up her wrist microphone from her two-way Motorola radio that’s belted to her waist and says, “Alamo is down, Alamo is down, MERT, get in here now!”
Harrison gets to the fallen vice president, calls out, “People, give me room, please, step away!” Back to her wrist microphone she says, “All stations, Alamo is down. Shut down the perimeter. Nobody enters or leaves.”
